15 & on Death Row
by sexyshivi
Summary: Harry Potter Betrayed By his Freind
1. Chapter 0 Prolog

15 & on Death Row

Prologue: Innocence

Harry Potter didn't like to reminisce.

Especially when he was slumped against the cool wall of his cell. There really wasn't much to do around here; he could reminisce, but who would want to if you were in his position?

He exercised, though. In the rare moments he had energy, he would do push ups or sit ups. He had just finished doing sit-ups, actually. How many, he did not know. A lot. It didn't seem to matter, really; he just stopped when he had no more energy left.

Then he slept. That wasn't much of a better choice either, to be honest. Sleep was almost like an enemy. There was only one thing that came to a sleeping man, and that was dreams.

Or nightmares. Usually, nightmares.

This place was dank and smelt funny. But that was hardly the worst of it. Those were actually some of the friendlier aspects. At least he wouldn't boil alive. But then, that wasn't much of a concern either. No, there was one major concern only, and a chain of smaller ones attached.

The Dementors.

The Dementors always came back. Always came back to haunt him in particular. The other prisoners weren't affected so badly, but Harry was like an attraction for the horrid fiends. Sure, the effects of the Dementors lessened slightly as Harry unwittingly built up a strong Occlumency shield around his mind, but it was still awful. So were the visions.

His wand had been mercilessly snapped (by Fudge), as had his innocence (by Dumbledore), his trust (by Hermione and Ron), his body (by Voldemort), his favoured companion (by Ginny), his mind (by Dementors) and of course, his heart (by everyone).

A Patronus was impossible without a wand, and now, his worst memories weren't just of his parents, although they came back to him also. There were other things, worse things, things that he remembered so clearly they were with him all the time. If not while conscious and musing, then as he dreamed.

Betrayal.

Faces. All the faces of the ones that stabbed him in the back. Every single face came to visit him at least once. He had been stuck in this stupid cell for… well, he didn't quite know. Time had lost meaning here, like most things. But he still wondered how long it had been; it felt like years, but in reality it was probably closer to a couple of months.

However, Harry wasn't sure whether he even wanted the Patronus to protect him. The more he suffered, the more he would get revenge for once the fools realized their biggest mistake.

They had just stabbed him in the back, like he had never meant anything to them. Fudge (though Harry hadn't really expected anything good from that incompetent idiot), Remus, Dumbledore, the Weasleys in general and of course, Ron and Hermione.

All betrayed him. Even bloody Lupin; he knew the same mistake could be made twice, Harry mused bitterly. Most of his thoughts were bitter these days. The only way he stayed sane was through one thing. The same thing that had kept a different prisoner going for twelve years.

Sirius would have stood by him. Sirius knew what it was like. Sirius would have believed him, because Sirius had done the same thing himself.

He was innocent.

That's right, everyone, Harry thought with equal bitterness as his other musing. I didn't do it after all. Must be a shock… idiots? The lot of them. Who the hell would be stupid enough to believe that Harry Potter was a killer anyway?

Everyone, it would seem.

Thinking about it logically… none of it actually made any sense. And at least one person would have figured that out.

Hermione had been his best bet; she was a genius, logical witch. She should have to see the truth. But she didn't. He assumed that she was 'overcome by grief' or something. That would be her excuse.

Firstly, Harry didn't have the magical power to accomplish the feat he was accused off. That much had been proven only days before the set up. Then something else; why would Harry go dark anyway? His own parents had been killed by the dark; the dark had ruined his life. He wasn't heartless.

The wizarding world was shambles. Filled with the stench of corruption; they believed only what they were told to believe. And who did they listen to?

The Ministry. Dumbledore. Higher sources.

Their word was golden, no matter how wrong and clearly filled with lies it was, it was believed. It was sacred to them… and it disgusted Harry.

Voldemort had a whole plan worked out. He end of Harry's fifth year, he would lure him to the Department of Mysteries… and from there, things would unravel appropriately. And unfortunately, they did.

Towards the end of June, they struck. Mere days from the end of the year for Hogwarts, Harry was lured to the Department of Mysteries.

And that's where everything went wrong.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Neville had all gone right off to fight at the Department of Mysteries. The outcome was one dead godfather for Harry, and a whole lot of trauma.

And the Prophecy, which Dumbledore the asshole revealed to him after they had come back. Stupid, stupid fucking dickhead, Harry thought with extreme bitterness. This was exactly the thing that could bloody well have changes his life; if Harry had known of the Prophecy in the first place, he might have actually trained in magic and not just wait around for Voldemort to Avada Kedavra him away.

Harry had been, to put it mildly, furious at the meddling old Headmaster. Once, he looked to the man with respect and awe, thinking of him to be infallible, like a God. In place of that was pure, undiluted fury, even more so than at Voldemort. At least Voldemort had always been clear about his intentions towards Harry.

Harry had been extremely depressed when he found out that the two way mirror didn't work to contact Sirius. He had spent countless hours outside, brooding. No one dared approach him in fear of Harry doing something… rash.

Enter Draco Malfoy and his goons; it was truly their moment to shine. The goal of his little project was simple; get Potter out of the way. Dead was preferred, but Voldemort was rather realistic, and didn't overestimate Draco… a wise move, as Malfoy could never kill Harry himself.

So instead, they staged the perfect set up. Voldemort had a stroke of genius.

Junior Malfoy, along with Crabbe and Goyle, his ever faithful lumps, and Hogwarts Whore number one Pansy Parkinson, all Death Eaters in training, had Harry exactly where they wanted him; brooding silently, isolated and alone, with the whole school fearing him.

Harry, who had been stupidly not been expecting more drama, had no recollection at all of what had happened. But when he woke up, Percy Weasley had shoved his Dark Mark covered left forearm at him very inconspicuously before Dumbledore started bellowing at him about the use of Crucio on said Weasley.

Voldemort knew it was pointless to try and kill Potter again, and settled on having him out of the way… for now. He placed a few useful charms on Potter and disappeared, grinning evilly in satisfaction.

Voldemort had essentially transferred more of himself into Harry. He shoved into Harry's mind a number of dark curses; none extremely powerful that they could hurt Lord Voldemort of course, but enough for suspicion, as well as adding a few dark memories into Potter's mind. He lengthened Potter's messy hair to match the style that Tom Riddle had worn, as well as paling his skin and charming Potter's eyes into accepting blood red streaks amongst the green.

Harry reeked of dark magic and his aura, which had been charmed for all to see by Voldemort, was fully flaring at a deep black.

When Harry had woken up, he was totally clueless as to the recent events and still in the 'scene of crime' as it were. However he was surrounded by Dumbledore and his posse of what Harry knew as Order members, all wands pointed directly at his heart.

From there, it was ancient history. He didn't get a trial, of course. Like hell they would spare valuable time for proving the Boy-who-lived's innocence. Nope, definitely not.

Harry had tried to get help, had stumbled down to Hogsmeade to ask for help, but all the shopkeepers shunned him. Dumbledore said quite explicitly that he didn't want Harry around him ever again, so Harry had gotten down to Diagon Alley, where he was again shunned. He had slept on a patch of ground in Diagon Alley the night before he was sent away to Azkaban.

A couple went so far as to curse him. Harry made a point of remembering their names for the future; the manager of Dervish & Banges in Hogsmeade, and in the Post Office, as well as staff members in Eeylops Owl Emporium and Flourish and Blott's.

With all the evidence pointing towards him, it was hopeless form the very beginning.

Harry being unconscious when they arrived was a sign of magical exhaustion, from over-performing curses and spells. The offending wand was in his hand with no other finger prints apart from his own. And Percy's desperate testimony to 'what Potter had done' was heartbreakingly heartfelt and convincing to everyone.

So he was charged with it all, they actually believed that he cast Crucio on Percy, leading him to near insanity. Well, that was just plain ridiculous to anyone with half a brain. However, it seemed that most people were in fact, lacking half a brain. They ate it up like a fat kid eats cake.

They threw him into Azkaban with no hesitation. They taunted him at every chance, and shoved him in the highest security cell there, in a block of cells specially reserved for prisoners in his 'situation'.

And what a fucking situation it was.

To Be Continued…

Coming soon, Chapter 1: Condemn, in which we see a brief overview of Harry's 'trial', and of course, what our favourite traitors have been getting up to.


	2. Chapter 1: Condemn

Chapter 1: Condemn

Ronald Weasley was living the good life.

After his courageous part in locking away the most wanted man on the planet, he had become an instant hero. Hogwarts worshipped him; he had received the Quidditch captaincy, countless points for Gryffindor and was even given leeway on marks, got O's when he clearly deserved A's… he obviously lacked the intelligence; however in the world today, Ron Weasley could do no wrong. Although Ron was technically entering 6th year on September the 1st, he was receiving special training and had, of course, immediately been re-granted the Prefect status.

The Aurors had recruited him and started him on basic training, so that as soon as he was out of Hogwarts he could join. He had even been given an Order of Merlin, 1st class, for his brave efforts.

Hermione Granger didn't have it bad either. Everyone knew about how she had exploded at the thin, black haired boy. She too had her own Order of Merlin. Ron had decided to simply become Hermione's boyfriend. He had persuaded her that they belonged together, that they were the heroes now. And Hermione was too distraught to argue at the time. She was working towards being a Professor, and had also been receiving special training, although she unlike Ron, had no trouble with the work. She was the Gryffindor prefect, of course, and was top of the list for Head Girl-ship.

Ginny Weasley was the one that had equally gained most and lost most in that day. She too had gotten the Order of Merlin 1st class, the glory and fame. But the rest was revealed on the day of the 'trial'. Something that no one would ever forget…

Fudge had demanded that Potter receive no trial, as he was 'unworthy' to be in the presence of respected people. Just like Sirius Black, they were condemning him, innocent and without a fair shot to prove said innocence. Instead of a trial, there was a bit of a 'gathering' just as he was about to be shipped off to Azkaban. It had gone a bit like:

"You tortured him, Potter. You tortured Percy Weasley to almost the brink of insanity. It's a miracle he is alive today! For this, you will be EXECUTED!" Fudge had never looked as gleeful as he did right now.

Harry Potter was going to be executed at the age of 15. How fucking delightful.

Percy, who had been looking extremely smug up to this point, now suddenly looked nervous. He leaned over and muttered something in Fudge's ear, as inconspicuous as possible.

"That is to say, execution is what you deserve. Unfortunately for me and the rest of the world, minors such as yourself are protected from execution. Therefore I hereby declare that Harry James Potter, just short of 16, will be sent to death row in Azkaban," Fudge declared, covering his blunder up quickly.

Percy must have had orders form Voldemort to keep him alive for the time being. And of course, if Fudge had executed him, he would have been expelled from his seat as Minister.

"I'M INNOCENT! IT'S HIM! HE'S A DEATH EATER!" Harry yelled desperately, pointing at Percy.

"HOW DARE YOU, YOU INTOLERABLE SCUM! YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM MY FAMILY! TO THINK THAT I LET MY DEAR RON BEFRIEND YOU, I SHOULD HAVE FORBIDDEN HIM FROM YOU, DEATH EATER! HOW DARE YOU ENTER OUR LFIE AND FAMILY, TREATING YOURSELF AS AN EQUAL MEMBER!" Molly went on, expelling him from the Weasley family, which he had practically become a member of prior to his arrest.

Then Ron began. Fudge was enjoying the show way too much as Ron, at the top of his lungs, described how dark and evil Harry was and how he deserved to die. Pretty standard stuff which hurt Harry, but he refused to show it.

The final straw however, was when Ron said that it was Harry's fault that Sirius died.

"THAT'S TOTAL BULLSHIT, YOU BASTARD. I TRUSTED YOU RON, I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY BEST FRIEND; YOU FUCKING JERK, I HATE YOU. ARE YOU GOING TO LET YOUR PETTY JEALOUSY GET ME LOCKED UP FOR A CRIME I DID NOT COMMIT? HUH? HUH?" Harry totally split and after this lot of phrases, carried on, cursing Ron's name to eternal hell, and so forth.

"See what I mean? Violent and dark," Ron motioned to Harry carelessly, a glint in his eyes. Harry couldn't believe he was seeing this. Enough was enough.

He finished, only to be replaced by Hermione and her equally full-of-total-bullshit speech. She was about to step down, but suddenly it seemed like a light went off above her head and she struck him where it hurt the most, as proven after his fit at Ron.

"Harry James POTTER, HOW COULD YOU RUIN THE LIVES OF THOSE INNOCENTS? HOW COULD YOU, I HATE YOU! YOU-YOU… YOU'RE SICK! YOU'RE AS BAD AS VOLDEMORT HIMSELF. POTTER, IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT THAT SIRIUS DIED TOO! DIDN'T HE MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU? YOUR FATHER'S BEST FRIEND? HOW COULD YOU JUST JOIN THE MAN THAT KILLED OFF YOUR PARENTS?" Hermione screeched.

Although her words hurt him, Harry couldn't help but hope Hermione would figure it out; Harry wouldn't join the sick bastard that killed his parents.

However, Hermione was subsided and said no more. But it was not the end of this silence, as Ginny Weasley's high pitched and bloody annoying voice cut in, throwing accusations left, right and centre.

"Harry, I-" she wasn't screaming, like the rest. Well, not to start off with; to start off with, she was sobbing, which was just as annoying.

"I loved you Harry Potter, we could have had a future together. We could have- we… I hate you. I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU; we trusted you-"

And so it went. Harry tuned out after the first half minute. Contrary to what the audience seemed to think, he didn't actually enjoy being verbally abused with total bullshit coming from the mouths of his former friends.

It seemed as though the whole audience wanted a go at him. Molly Weasley had another turn, as did Dumbledore, and of course Remus Lupin, whose words hurt the most.

"You're an embarrassment to your parents, and an embarrassment to Sirius," Remus had said. Well, obviously, in much harsher terms, but it was all the same.

However, the sight he saw next shattered Harry.

Ron and Hermione were holding his most valued possessions; the photo album of his parents, his owl and the broom he had received from Sirius. In one fluid motion, they simultaneously said the spell and flames shot out of their wands. The photo album burned to ashes in a matter of seconds, as did his Firebolt.

It was Ginny that mercilessly snapped Hedwig's neck, even as Harry cried out no.

"If I had my hands on your father's cloak and that map, they'd be joining the ashes," Ron bellowed. Harry felt the tears well up in his eyes; the last memories he had, especially of his parents and of Sirius, were gone.

Harry collapsed, then and there. He simply could not take it anymore. Ignoring the flames, he reached into the fire furiously, feeling his skin burn and melt at the contact, but intent on rescuing at least one photo. The only one he grasped was one that was half ripped and burnt around the edges. He grabbed it before Weasley could have another Incendio fit at it and held it to his heart in a death grip.

"YOU CAN'T TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME!" he yelled insanely, clutching it so tightly that his fingers were turning white.

The rest was a blur to Harry. He briefly remembered Dementors coming in to take him away.

"I hope you will all remember this day. You idiots just condemned yourself; I am innocent. You will realize this eventually, probably about the time when Voldemort is ruling your pathetic world. Then you'll come crawling back… and I won't be there," Harry announced, holding his head up as much as he could with Dementors on his arms. He had been mostly silent up to there, knowing that it would piss them off that much more if he didn't retaliate. But this had to be said.

The disbelief, shock and anger in him were overflowing, but he forced them all down.

"Do you have any last wishes before your death?" Fudge sneered nastily, totally ignoring Harry's little speech and instead just throwing him looks of intense distaste.

"Yes, I do. I wish to be exempt from this world of yours; Magical Britain. I declare myself no longer part of your community or your way of life," Harry proclaimed. There was a hush. The fact that Harry expressed a wish to be denounced as a wizard of Britain's Magic community was quite a big deal.

"Is that all, Potter? Because let me assure you, we couldn't be more glad to be rid of you!" Fudge cackled.

"Yeah, just one more thing," Harry took a deep breath; if he was going to be locked up and put on death row, he may as well have his last moment of fun.

He spat right in the centre of Fudge's pompous face, "Fuck you."

Fudge was so shocked that he didn't move for a moment, which gave Harry the opportunity to punch Dumbledore's senile face right in the centre, breaking his overly large and disfigured nose and also removing that insufferable twinkle in his eyes.

It was probably Harry's finest moment, should he reflect on his, Fudge had regained what the idiot thought of as 'control', and demanded that Harry be taken away immediately.

So he was. Harry Potter, hero of the light, the Boy-who-lived, and ultimately, traitor of the light, convicted of a crime he did not do, sentenced to death row on Azkaban. The trip to Azkaban was pure hell. Harry didn't bother struggling; he didn't have the energy. The recent events had totally drained him and basically broken his spirit. Harry just didn't feel he had anything to live for anymore. So why bother trying to resist the shadows of death?

It just didn't seem to register; the jeering faces of his so called friends as four Ministry Personnel accompanied by three Dementors dragged him away after he made his last wish. Spitting on Fudge was definitely a highlight, as well as punching Dumbledore, but in reality didn't do much to cheer Harry up.

No, he stowed that away for later on, when he would be declared innocent. Then he'd put said memory in a Pensieve and use it to warm up on cold, winter nights.

To Be Continued…

Coming soon, Chapter 2: Visions, in which Harry sees stuff and spirals into depression


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Visions

They searched him. Harry was forced into a bloody strip search to make sure he held nothing dangerous. They tried to take away his photo.

The only thing he had left, the only precious thing left in this world for him. It was the one of his parents on their wedding day, Sirius with them as best man. They tried to take it away. Harry briefly remembered going into some sort of fit, shaking on the ground, crying, screaming and above all, holding the photo so tightly that no one could get it out. In the end, they just let him have it.

His parents and Sirius were already gone. Therefore, no one could take them away. They had left, and here in good old Azkaban, Harry was convinced they had left because of him. It was his fault that they were dead, his fault that Sirius died…

No! Harry thought to himself. I will not succumb to what that filthy werewolf and the rest told me. It is not my fault. Positive self-talk was something Harry rarely indulged in and even more rarely did it work. But he did note some satisfaction as a smile spread over his face, making one of the guards edge away from him inconspicuously.

For some reason, this was extremely hilarious and Harry let out with a massive bout of laughter. This definitely made the guard more edgy. Harry supposed he was just submitting to insanity; whether permanent or just for the moment, he did not care.

Was he really that dangerous? That he needed seven assistants taking him to the fortress of Azkaban. And of course, Dumbledore, right there next to Fudge, one as bad as the other, snapped his wand in clear sight of him, spat at the remains and repeatedly told Harry what a failure he was.

Like when Ginny snapped Hedwig's neck, it was the same with Harry's wand; as soon as the wood broke, Harry felt a part of himself break too. If there even was anything left to break. His heart was long since broken and his spirit also. No doubt that even an hour in Azkaban would successfully break his mind.

Why had Ginny snapped Hedwig's neck? Of all people, Harry wouldn't have guessed for Ginny to betray him so blatantly. Not to think such arrogant thoughts, but Harry had saved her life. Harry supposed it was because of her 'I love you' announcement that she felt a greater anger for Harry than others, and simply got carried away.

It was no excuse though. Not really.

Harry thought he was crazy now. But things were getting worse. The visions came. The first was possibly the worst. Or so Harry thought. But he changed his mind when he saw the second; the second was definitely the worst. No, the third was. Or the fourth…

It must have been his scar, Harry reasoned. His scar, the connection with Voldemort, had opened his mind right up to everything and anything. But mainly, Voldemort's attacks. Harry watched as Voldemort's control slowly but surely grew; all it took was a few months. And Voldemort had nearly full control.

He saw it all, Harry did. He saw the torture Voldemort handed out, the havoc he wreaked. And of course, every single Avada Kedavra, every single Crucio, every single pain… he could see it, feel it in his very bones. Harry saw every single Death Eater meeting, heard every word they said. That's how Harry learned of the state of the outside world. Rather unfortunately, his visions, as he just settled on calling them, only applied to Voldemort and his gang of psychopaths.

But talk they did.

They plotted and schemed, as always. Told Voldemort of the latest, standings, updated him on all the news. How the 'light' side continued to fuck up every chance they got. Albus Dumbledore, leader of the idiots.

They spoke of how Hogwarts was changing. The houses were banished, one of Dumbledore's only smart moves. Well, it would have been smart if the aim was to unite the school. However, the reason the houses were banished was most likely that the number of students attending had dwindled, reaching an all time low. In a school where there had once been near five hundred students, now they were lucky to scrape up eighty.

Once, some time ago, the Order of the Phoenix had been a secret organization. They fought against the dark, from the time of the seventies, when Harry's own parents had been members. But now, it was no longer a secret organization. It was the last stronghold, the last of the light fighters. And even so, it was filled with spies and corruption. They were doomed.

This had happened in a matter of months. It was really rather pathetic.

Harry was slightly curious as to why he never seemed to see Snape at the Death Eater meetings, though. He was rarely mentioned, and at the times that he was, dark mutterings of him being a traitor ensured. Harry could only come to the conclusion that Snape had shown his true colours to Voldemort and sided with Dumbledore publicly.

Not much of a smart move, Harry mused. Dumbledore and the idiots were losing all power.

Harry didn't know how to, but he was desperately trying to shut his mind away from these goddamned visions. He didn't want them. They only caused him more grief, which he certainly did not need.

It's not as if there was much to do in a bloody cell, and Harry had already exercised all physical energy out of himself. So he focused on his mind. He didn't know what to do or how to do it, but Harry started out basic. Petunia had gone through a stage where she was a great yoga fan. She had brought countless books on the subject, even if they were three thousand page books, only containing a few precious pages on bloody yoga.

But then, she got bored of it, and moved onto something else.

Harry remembered browsing through some of the more non-yoga related books. There was a particularly interesting one that focused on meditation. So Harry meditated as well as he could; this, in reality, was not very well at all, as there was some difficulty in relaxing in a cell, surrounded by taunting guards and fiends that sucked happiness out of you.

But still; it was better than Snape's poor efforts at teaching Harry Occlumency. If it came down to it, Harry believed that he had gotten the basics down and was slowly building a very small, very weak shield around his mind. Layer by layer, it was like building a house, he told himself. He could see it all in his mind, taking a brick, placing it in the right spot, putting another one next to it, building the wall, height wise, testing it's strength.

Harry really had no clue of what he was doing; all he had gotten Occlumency training wise, was Snape and his clear your mind, Potter speech. So he was just imagining a wall around his mind, hoping that it would somehow stop Voldemort.

The only clear effect was that the visions of Voldemort's attacks did decrease in frequency… but that could have been because Voldemort was keeping quiet. Harry didn't hold much stock at all in his Occlumency shields, but for the time being, they would have to do.

However, he was feeling slightly less despaired around Dementors than usually. But only just slightly. It was a source of great theorizing to Harry, who wondered day in and out if this was coincidence, some magical power burst, malfunctioning Dementors or indeed, his shield.

Speaking of Dementors, they had been the bane of his existence in Azkaban. He just kept seeing Sirius dead, his parents begging for their lives, all the faces that betrayed him… it would truly never be happy again.

After trying to strengthen his shields, Harry would pointlessly do a couple of sit ups before collapsing, occasionally push-ups if he felt up to it. And then, he attempted to sleep… but the nightmares wouldn't let him. That was about it, really.

Well, when the guards didn't decide to have some fun with him and torment him.

…you're a shame to your parents, boy… ruined the world… traitor, turning your back on us all… went dark like Voldemort… how could you stab your friends in the back like that… freak… traitor… outlaw… bastard…

Harry tired to block them out, the voices and faces… but it was a lot harder than it sounded. He was itching to just jump on them, punch the living daylights out of them. It would have been entirely possible, Harry reasoned, without this bloody cell.

Harry was still stick thin, and much too frail. He resembled more of an old man than a 15 year old. He felt about average in physical strength, which Harry counted as a god sign; Sirius had told him that he had been very frail upon escape. Magically, Harry didn't believe that his powers had changed much, apart from the natural growth the magical core underwent as the person got older.

Harry's mental strength however, was the one that vaguely concerned him; mostly because Harry felt as though he was losing his mind. There were large blanks in his memory of the time he had already spent in Azkaban

He was slowly gaining physical strength through exercise, but it meant nothing to him when he knew that his mental strength was about that of a flea. Voldemort, the son of a bitch, had placed charms on him to make Harry look more like Voldemort himself. If he straightened up, gathered enough energy, Harry was quite sure that he could kill the pair of guards with his own bare hands.

But the cell was kind of interfering with his plan in a big way.

However, once Harry thought about it, he wasn't sure he wanted out. Sure, the Dementors were a pain and guards mocking him wasn't that cool… but to face them again? Yeah, Harry could put that off until eternity. He would die happy should he never again see the faces of the ones he once felt love for.

To Be Continued…

Coming soon, Chapter 3: Testament in which Dumbledore and co gets greedy (relax, it's not as cliche as it sounds. There is really no money stealing!)


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Testament

If Harry knew the current events of the real world, he would even more 'not happy' than now. After receiving letters of Sirius' death notification, which they all obvious knew of, a number of Weasleys, Hermione, Dumbledore, Tonks and Remus were off on a mission.

Sirius' final Will and Testament was waiting for them. After Harry's imprisonment, Fudge tried to pass a law that stated any known criminal's assets could be seized by the Ministry, but as majority of the Wizengamot and Ministry itself was corrupt and being paid off by Voldemort, the motion barely made it past his office.

The Dumbledore group wasn't sure what to expect, honestly; there was no proof that Sirius had actually died, as none of them could come forward and claim to have witnessed it without being pinned themselves for aiding a criminal, or something like that. However, they had gotten a letter by owl anyway, informing them of the reading.

Ron and Ginny were the only 2 that had gone, from the Weasley children, and Molly was the one that had strolled up to the goblins to inquire about the will.

"May I help you?" the goblin asked, rather unpleasantly as they always did.

"We are here for the reading of Sirius Black's Will," Molly stated importantly, drawing herself to full height. Excitement rose up in her stomach; finally, it looked as though they were going to have some money on their hands.

"Griphook will escort you to the private chamber," the goblin sneered before moving onto the nest customer. Griphook, another goblin, appeared and guided them to a room tucked away at the back before disappearing off, leaving them with yet another goblin.

"I am Vidar, Mr. Black's appointed Testament reader," the goblin announced coolly, eyeing the group with distaste. "Is everyone required present?"

Vidar proceeded to do a roll call of sorts, making sure that everyone who had to be there was represented. After the names of all the main beneficiaries (that they knew of) were called, Vidar looked around unpleasantly.

"There is always someone missing, isn't there?" Vidar grumbled under his breath. "Where is Mrs. Malfoy, Narcissa?"

The goblin brightened considerably at the name once he realized who he was referring to. However, the other occupants of the room frowned.

"Present, Vidar; you know to call me Narcissa," Narcissa replied smoothly, slipping into the room at last second.

"As always, lovely to see you again, Narcissa," Vidar greeted her in an almost friendly fashion.

"Same to you, Vidar," Narcissa replied, a slight smile on her face as she watched the Wealsey boy, Ronald, barely suppress his rage. His face was turning a dangerous shade of red.

"What is she doing here?" he hissed.

"Narcissa Malfoy is here because she was requested to be here, by Mr. Black, and is included in his will. If you have a problem with that, feel free to leave," Vidar snapped, back to his brisk, cold manner.

"Hello Narcissa; long time, no see," Dumbledore greeted. However, she only sneered at him.

"That'll be Mrs. Malfoy to you," she snapped, before turning back to Vidar expectantly. Ron scowled heavily even more, but was restrained by Hermione muttering furiously in his ear.

"There is one person missing, but for now, we must continue," Vidar announced before picking up a piece of paper in his long fingers.

"Welcome to the reading of the last Will, by Sirius Black. Mr Black has left a letter announcing the allocations of his possessions, which will be read out loud. Before I begin however, I must make it clear that as Mr Black was a wanted fugitive at the time of his death, and as no body has been recovered, this Will, and the Wills of all others in a similar situation, is hereby nullified until solid proof is found of his death and innocence. However, as I myself know that Mr Black has died, I am still prepared to read it, even though actually executing his last wishes is impossible," Vidar announced.

The occupants nodded in dejected acceptance; Sirius would definitely be missed. The fact that his Will could not be executed was something like bad news, but couldn't really be helped. Maybe some time in the future, it would be possible, after catching Wormtail and making him confess.

Ron in particular looked rather glum, probably because they weren't in fact going to get any money. But Vidar spared no glances of pity, moving right along.

"Ahem. I, Sirius Black, declare myself of sound body and mind as I write this will. None of that emotional mumbo jumbo, I was never particularly good at it. I'm fine; don't cry over me, and all that. I know that if I haven't been proven innocent yet, this is so far useless, but maybe, one day… Anyway, as heir to the Black family… insert an unfortunate grimace here, please… I've collected quite a lot of random junk over the years. And it's worth a ton. So here goes…

"Remus, the last Marauder, everything I've got for you is in Vault 254, so that's yours. Dumbledore, and I write this grudgingly as I would've preferred to leave you nothing for the torturous hours you made me spend at that house of mine as well as not even pushing for a trial before my Azkaban term. However, I'm feeling rather generous, so have Grimmauld Place… that wretched building is more trouble than it's worth. But I daresay you'll find use for it. Oh yeah, thanks for the education. Nymphadora Tonks, your Vault is now 539, it has everything that now belongs to you rightfully. Er… each Weasley child gets 5000 galleons, for their own person use. Molly, Arthur, I leave to you Vault 109, which should be enough for your troubles; thank you for all the help you've given Harry. And of course, Hermione, 5000 to you too, and heck, feel free to call the Black Library in Grimmauld Place your own.

There was a slight tense when Vidar read out the part about Harry, but they batted it aside, looking even more annoyed that this is all they could've had.

"To Narcissa, whom I'm sure everyone is surprised to see here. If anyone has anything to say about it, leave and do NOT take what I've left you with you. As I was saying, Narcissa, I leave you my eternal love as a 'brother', an apology for leaving and the contents of vaults 301 through 305, on the conditions that you give 20,000 galleons to Snape and apologize for the trauma we caused him… then punch him in his overly large nose and tell him what a bastard he is. And don't you dare put your inheritance anywhere near that bastard husband of yours, or even worse, your brat of a son.

Narcissa actually chuckled, while Ron's face turned redder than his hair. Quite a feat, at that.

"I have one more person to mention, but first, thank you Vidar for always being my favourite goblin. If they haven't promoted you by now, they bloody well should. I knew I picked you for a reason, I just didn't realize at the time that if I had ever been born a goblin, I'd be a lot like you.

Vidar paused here so that he and Narcissa could both burst into hearty laughter, clearly reliving some sort of fun memories. This baffled everyone; goblins were magical creatures, therefore lower in society than wizards and witches. Why would Sirius want to associate with one?

"Finally, everything else I own goes to one Harry James Potter; Vaults 210-235, 670, 714, 985, 1067 and the high security vaults of 1-8, 12 and 27. I don't know the exact value, however, it's huge Harry, and there's a number of special items I've been saving for you. I leave you all the other Black Estates, including a share of Hogwarts… yes, that's right. Also, Grim Moon, a building in Knockturn Alley, The Dog Star, a building in Hogsmeade, The Pottery, a place James and I shared in our youth, The Black Palace in Australia, Toujurs Pur Castle in France somewhere, a number of properties in America, 2 in Italy and a few more; there's a full list in vault 670. I leave you with a letter strictly for your own eyes only which will be delivered on your 17th and forms of legal emancipation, as I am your legal guardian and can enforce these rights. Be warned, if anyone apart from Harry himself touches them, consequences will be dire," Vidar finished off finally.

There was a sow silence before someone spoke out. "Right. Vidar, take us to the specified vault immediately," snapped Molly.

Vidar grinned cruelly, "Have you forgotten what I told you already? It's worthless. None of you can have it! None!" he exclaimed smugly, "Should you find a way to prove his death and innocence, something may be negotiated. Yes, there are eye witnesses to his death, however admitting that you were in contact with a known fugitive and did nothing about contacting the appropriate authorities won't do you much good; he is still a criminal."

Narcissa was smirking in the corner, trying not to laugh. She didn't particularly need the money at all; the Malfoy fortune was vast enough for her. The Weasley bunch however…

"Well, what happens to Potter's share of the inheritance once Sirius is proven innocent?" Ron demanded.

"As Mr. Potter is not here-" Vidar began, but was cut off swiftly by none other than Dumbledore, who sent Ron a silencing look.

"I will be standing in for him, as well as controlling his part of the inheritance," Dumbledore announced, a number of unpleasant thoughts going through his head. Vidar turned to him, an expression of distaste.

"Under what authorization? Do you have permission to do so?" Vidar drawled out. Dumbledore looked slightly abashed.

"No, but may I remind you that I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump, Order of Merlin, First Class, and so on; yes, I know who you are, however quite frankly, I do not care. Do you have permission or not?" Vidar snapped.

Dumbledore was livid. "No, I do not, but-"

"Then I am afraid you are out of your depth here. You will not be receiving Mr. Potter's share should Mr. Black be proved innocent. As I was saying before such a rood, arrogant interruption," here, Vidar glared at Dumbledore, "Unfortunately, as Mr. Potter will probably not here to negotiate, his share would remain untouched by all except for the designated next-in-line," Vidar finished sourly.

Ron however, managed to interpret this in entirely the wrong way. "Well, we don't mind doing it 'under the counter', right? I mean, no one here will tell," he piped up eagerly, the glint of greed clearly evident now more than ever.

Vidar sneered. "You misunderstand me, Weasley. I'd rather nothing more than to give you greedy humans absolutely nothing."

"So who is his next-in-line?" Molly Weasley wanted to know. Remus and Tonks had been silent through the whole exchange, quietly grieving for their friend, but even they looked up at this.

"Technically, it should be passed over to a… Lestrange, Bellatrix Black. However, due to her legal standing with the world, the second closest of kin that we can find who doesn't have a criminal record is… Malfoy, Narcissa Black," Vidar was looking very gleeful; his eyes had lit up and everything.

Dumbledore was livid at this announcement; no doubt, Narcissa Malfoy would, if she could, use the money in favor of Voldemort somehow. Dumbledore could not allow that. There was also the mystery of the keys to Harry's other vaults; the remaining Potter vaults, which had last been in the hands of Sirius Black. With him dead…

But Dumbledore's unasked questions were about to be answered by Vidar. "Well, I've done all I can here, it seems. Feel free to leave," no one budged, so he shrugged and seemed to take immense pleasure in his next words:

"There is one more thing, Narcissa," he began, "Mr. Black left me a couple of keys to various vaults and personally told me exactly what to do with them. As they are not technically part of his will, his legal standing as a convict does not interfere with me offering to hand them over to you. There are keys to the Black and Potter vaults mainly."

"What? Excuse me, but I believe I have more authoriz-" Molly began furiously, but was promptly ignored by Vidar and cut off by Narcissa.

"Thank you for that knowledge Vidar; I would like to take the Black Vault keys, but leave the keys to Potter's fortune with you, perhaps until a later time. I'm sure they'll be safe, I'd trust you with my life."

"You'd trust a goblin with your life?" Ginny threw out, looking at Vidar with disdain.

"Would you prefer if I trust my life with someone like you?" Narcissa spat sarcastically. A tense moment of silence passed before Vidar cleared his throat and motioned to the door, a clear signal to leave.

There were some furious mutters going around as the group walked out of the door Dumbledore and Molly most prominently. Ron was sulking while Hermione and Ginny tried to calm him down. Remus and Tonks both had tears running down their faces silently, both furious at the thought that Narcissa Malfoy could get Sirius' things.

However Narcissa just smiled sweetly, thanked Vidar and sauntered out smugly, contemplating on how she could rub this into Dumbledore's face even more. She had to get to Potter.

To Be Continued


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Minute

It was his birthday today. Harry didn't quite know how he knew this, but he could just feel it. His 16th birthday was going to be spent in Azkaban, and his 17th… well, his 17th birthday would be spent getting his soul sucked out and his head chopped off.

Harry classified his 16th birthday as one of the worst ever days in his life, so far.

Worse than when he was 7, the Dursleys made him clean the entire house just so they could mess it up again and Harry had to repeat his work, then promptly threw him out of the house and Harry had to sleep on some dirt in a near by dumpster, scavenging around for food before someone noticed.

Worse than when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin, and when Lockhart removed he bones in his arm. Worse than when Cedric died, or when Sirius died. Worse than when he stopped Quirrel in first year. Worse, worse, worse…

In fact, the only time he could remember that would outstrip this day would be either when his parents died; not that he could remember it of course, but if they were still alive, Harry was pretty sure that he wouldn't be in this position. And of course, that bloody farce of a trial.

He didn't have a watch on him, so couldn't tell the precise time. But he knew it was close to his exact birthday. It was dark outside; well, it was always dark, but at the moment it was dark like the night.

I'll give it 10 minutes, Harry decided, tracing the number 10 repeatedly on the wall he was leaning on.

If he had 10 minutes with the Weasley family, they would all be mutilated beyond belief. Especially Ron, Ginny and Molly; at least the others had managed to refrain themselves from shouting out at him. Then he would personally cut a lightning bolt shaped scar in Ron's forehead and shove him in a cage, so that he could feel like an object in a zoo that everyone scrutinized. Oh yeah, and he'd finish Percy off too, just for the hell of it.

9 minutes.

If he had 9 minutes with Dumbledore, the crackpot old idiot would be sitting in this very cell, without a wand, all power bound and a Dementor approaching him. No, not one. A million Dementors.

8 minutes.

If he had 8 minutes with the Dursleys, he would thank them for never lying to him about their feelings for him, then proceed to torture them as compensation for the hellish years Harry spent with them.

7 minutes.

If he had 7 minutes with Fudge and his gang of idiots, he would be burning the words DUMBASS into their foreheads then shout his might out at them; they weren't worth physical or magical energy.

6 minutes.

If he had 6 minutes with Malfoy Jr. and his cronies, he would simply bind them to stay still and spend the rest of the time physically abusing them before cutting off their left forearms and shoving them in their own mouths, Dark Mark included.

5 minutes.

If he had 5 minutes with Hermione Granger, he would tell her how utterly stupid she is, for not being able to see what was quite clear; Harry was innocent. Then he would proceed to hit her over the head with a number of heavy books she liked so much and hope that it would knock some sense into her.

4 minutes.

If he had 4 minutes with Madam Bones and the Wizengamot, he would snap every single one of their wands right in front of their faces, then call his good friends, the Death Eaters, to take care of them. They should have given him a trial.

3 minutes.

If he had 3 minutes with Remus Lupin, he would put him in a room full of silver, lock the door and throw the key far, far away.

2 minutes.

If he had 2 minutes with the good old Death Eaters… well, they weren't worth personal time, but what the hell. Harry would Imperio them to all kill each other. They weren't worth much energy either. Except maybe Bellatrix… she'd get hers.

1 minute.

If he had 1 minute with Voldemort, he'd thank him for at least never using Harry as a scapegoat, then kill him. Simple as that. Not even torture. Just kill him, fulfill the damn Prophecy and get the hell out of there.

Bingo.

He was 15 and on death row. Well, 16, now.

What a lovely thought to begin a new year of my life, Harry thought bitterly. Not that his count down thoughts had been much better. The gruesome deaths were more Voldemort-style than light side style.

But they were in the middle of a bloody war. Casualties were going to happen. And it wasn't called revenge, what Harry was thinking of.

It was called justice.

Approximately 2 months later: early October, 1996

Harry's birthday had come to an all-time low. He guessed that approximately 2 months had passed since he turned 16. That meant… oh, about 10 months till he died a horrific and unjust death.

Harry was strangely un-depressed for someone who was thinking of their own death. There was a good feeling in the air. Ok, well not really in the air; the air reeked, and not just literally (although that it did also), but also from the stench of death, corruption and guilt.

No, the good feeling was… well, it was somewhere. Harry just knew that his day was about to get better. And if it didn't, he would probably go into a suicidal rage or something.

Not that he knew it at the moment, but on the other side of the ocean that surrounded Azkaban Island, someone was loading herself into a boat, 2 Aurors at her side as she paid the 100 galleon fee for visiting a prisoner, and was subjected to the customary check of anything dangerous on her.

Her wand was put in a waiting box, as they told the visitor that she would be able to reclaim it upon exiting the island.

Then, when she had been thoroughly searched, she was escorted by 2 guards throughout the rows of cells. It was a maze really, therefore rather easy to get lost in. However the visitor remained calm, assured the guards she would be fine, and asked for some time alone with her target.

The guards were hesitant in granting the woman his request, but caved in eventually. But not before placing a tracking charm on her, amongst other things. The visitor had looked over some files before locating the one she was after, discreetly hiding it to herself, away from the guards.

Prisoner #40927

Name: Potter, Harry James

Date of Birth: 31st of July, 1980

Wand: holly, phoenix feather, 11", supple – snapped prior to arrival

Date of Entrance: 25th of June, 1995

Charge: 1 count of torture; use of Unforgivable Curse

Sentence: execution

Status: death row until 31st of July, 1997

Security Class: top security

Physical State: malnourished, gets very little sleep, exercises and meditated regularly, green eyes prior to entry have now turned completely red

Mental State: unknown; makes little noise, apart from nightmares and trance-like 'visions'

The visitor was seriously disturbed with the last piece of information; mental state. She just hoped he wasn't too late.

Harry could hear feet approaching. Was someone here to see him? Excellent. Harry immediately took on the 'insane' position; glazed over eyes, silence, lying motionless on the floor, twitching every few seconds, and so on.

The figure gasped when she set her eyes on the prisoner.

"Harry? Is that you?" a voice asked. The voice sounded strangely familiar, but it was definitely not the Weasley clan, Remus, Hermione, and so on.

The person was observing him with horror, taking in the fact that Harry's thin frame had gotten even thinner and he was clearly malnourished. Azkaban food wasn't known for it's… well, Azkaban wasn't really known for even feeding prisoners. And when they were fed, it was hardly something you'd call food. He looked terrible.

There was a very slight muscle build up after a short time, which the visitor assumed was from exercising, one of the few activities that could be safely done in Azkaban. There was also sleep or go insane. Lack of exposure to the sun made Harry's already pale skin rival that of a vampire. His once brilliant emerald eyes were now crimson red and dull. His hair was as messy as ever, now past his shoulders, filthy and matted.

Basically, he looked disgusting; a far cry from the bright, handsome young man he had been half a year ago.

"Harry, what have they done to you?" the voice whispered darkly, yet softly. It sounded like a female, which piqued Harry's interest, even though he still refused to answer, twitch again instead, just for show.

"Harry, please get up, I'd like to help you," the voice continued softly. This time, Harry snapped up and replied.

"Yeah? And where the hell were you to help me when I was being rocked off to this place?" he hissed venomously before dropping back to his previous position.

"I was writing an article for daddy's paper about your innocence," the voice replied dreamily.

Bingo. That's all Harry needed for identification. Luna Lovegood had come to see him. Harry bolted up again. He was so certain that she wasn't lying. It was Luna for God's sake. Maybe he just wanted to believe he still had a friend, but Harry was 100 per cent positive…

If Harry thought about it later, he would realize that he was not extremely surprised to see that Luna believed him. The girl believed in Crumple horned Snorkacks, after all. If she believed that, surely she could believe that he was innocent.

"Hello Luna," Harry said quietly, gloom in his voice. He had begun a tentative friendship with the somewhat strange girl from the day they boarded the train, and it only grew throughout the year. Especially the time they spent in the Shrieking Shack, a bit of a refuge for him. Luna apparently knew of it, and so they had reluctantly begun to share the old 'house'.

"Hi Harry," she replied, smiling dreamily in his directions. "I hope the Dementors weren't too bad. I suppose even Fudge's Heliopath army would've have been better."

Harry had a hard time controlling his laughter; one of the things he enjoyed about Luna was how easily she could make him laugh, most of the time unknowingly, and especially with some of her… rather far-fetched beliefs.

"Thanks, Luna," he replied. "I'm surviving. But how exactly is it that you believe me, while Ginny, Ron and Hermione don't?" Harry asked softly.

"You think that I'm going to believe you are capable of murder?" Luna snorted here, "Harry, you can't even look into my eyes properly when I mention Heliopaths. Murder? I doubt it!" She giggled insanely.

Harry blushed, because she was right, and suddenly felt a huge amount of gratitude rise up inside him. He hugged Luna as tightly as he could through the bars of a cell and kissed her cheek lightly, whispering a thank you in her ear.

Things were looking up.

"So how are you Harry?" she asked, almost seriously. The key word was almost. Somehow, picturing Luna with a serious expression was not something that came easily.

"The usual, I guess; borderline suicidal, depressed, deprived, malnourished, hungry, tired, bored, pissed off. You know how it goes… welcome to my personal hell, and all that. May I offer you a cold beverage?"

"A cold beverage would be lovely," Luna replied vaguely.

"Er… I was being sarcastic," Harry replied unsurely. It was just an expression… surely, Luna knew that?

"I know," Luna said. "But a cold beverage would be lovely. Especially that muggle Coke stuff, preferably in Vanilla; smooth and cool, just like the TV ads."

"Luna, there's no such thing as Vanilla Coke, not in the Muggle world; there's only normal coke. And the Wizard world doesn't have it at all," Harry replied, well remembering how Dudley used to guzzle that stuff down by the can while Harry was shoved a dish of dirty water.

"There isn't? Oh, that must be some other time then…" answered Luna, glancing around casually.

Harry was officially scared. "Right… so, er how's the world going?" he asked tentatively, not really wanting to encourage her creepy habits even though they were undoubtedly amusing.

"Well, it's on the brink of disaster," Luna said cheerfully. Harry goggled at her, which she replied self consciously, "What? I thought you might cheer up a bit if you heard others were suffering too."

Harry chuckled lightly at that. "But for real, how is the world going?"

Luna looked at him blankly, "for real. It's on the brink of disaster."

"Oh," Harry replied. "Well, that puts a bit of a damper on things. Voldemort still kicking, eh? I see him in my dreams and visions sometimes."

"Yes, he's thriving," Luna talked as if Voldemort was some sort of newly planted species of flower that was doing very well in a new environment.

"Ok, that's er… well, bad I guess. So what else is happening while I've been here?" Harry asked, hoping that Luna could provide him with something concrete.

"Well, their Royal Highnesses, the Prince and Princess of Wales, were divorced. A popular Muggle entertainer was shot and died a few days later on Friday the 13th. A former Prime Minister of Hungary was assassinated and some data sent back by a space probe indicated that one of Jupiter's moons may contain wate-"

"Luna," Harry cut her off swiftly, "I meant stuff you know, relevant to me. Not to mention that I was expecting Wizarding not Muggle news. Just how do you know that all that stuff happened anyway?"

"How can you not know? It's fascinating!" Luna exclaimed. Seeing the look on Harry's face, she rushed to add, "Er… oh, I know! Dumbledore and his gang went to the reading of Sirius' will to try and rob you naked, but failed rather dismally in an amusing escapade witnessed by a friend of mine."

"WHAT?" Harry yelled frantically. "I've got to-"

"Oh, calm down. It's all sorted. Actually, there's someone else that you'll need to see about that, she'll be coming here soon," Luna said carefully. This was the sanest Harry had ever seen Loony Luna.

"Who?" he asked rather curiously. Was this someone else who believed him? Hopefully so, as once Harry got out, most likely by illegal means, he would need all the help he could get.

"Narcissa Malfoy," Luna replied, as if it was totally normal.

"Excuse me? I thought you just said Narcissa Malfoy," Harry looked at Luna as though she was delusional. And to be honest, it was a fair possibility.

"I did," Luna replied brightly, smiling at him, happy that he had worked it out. Harry however, had not worked it out.

"Why would I want to go see her?" he asked confusedly. Luna stared at him with similar confusion.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Well, apart from the fact that she looks at me like I'm dung fertilizer and had Lucius Malfoy, her husband- which in itself is an unforgivable sin- impregnate her with the devil's spawn, also known as Draco Malfoy, I'm her greatest fan. No, it would be simply lovely to see her," Harry exclaimed sarcastically.

"Oh, good then," Luna replied absentmindedly. Harry goggled again, thinking that perhaps sarcasm near Luna wasn't much of a good idea.

"Luna, I wasn't being serious," Harry said as gently as he could.

"Yes well, I suppose you'll have to get past that, won't you? She'll be here in 3 months, I assume. Lovely woman," Luna said dreamily, while Harry almost choked on this sentiment.

"I'm afraid she'll have more news. It looks as though my time is up," Luna snapped up a second before the guard yelled 'Time is up!'

"Good bye Luna, and really, thank you," Harry murmured awkwardly. As crazy as this girl was, her company was very enjoyable. Especially in an isolated cell.

"Stay strong, Harry!" she called cheerfully before disappearing. The depressing thing was that, 2 minutes later, Harry already missed the slightly… ahem, eccentric girl.

Hi… I proudly received an invitation from Quillian to join this group after he kindly reviewed my story, 15 & on Death Row, at Once I figure out how to, I'd love to post here as well )

To Be Continued…


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